Cadia story

(written by another Anon; I only added few last paragraphs)

During the siege of Kasr Kraf, a small band of unknown space marines were seen skulking the outer parameter of the dilapidated city, causing chaos and havoc amongst the heretical forces. When wolf lord Orven Highfell of the ironwolves first met the questionable astartes, he noted how Lord Banethar's relatively large stature is a bane to covert operations. The Unyielding chorttled, and retorted 'For you'.

For Fellhammer, this remark turned out to be both a complement and a chance of self-reflection, for the 'Phantom links' as they called themselves, were a force to be reckoned with. They strike at the heart of enemy forces, with the ferocity rivaling the wolves, but never until the last moment, similar to the raven guards.

When Ursakar E. Creed learned of this feat, he attempted to summon the figure of epic proportions, only to receive a mysterious vox reply: 'No one cared who I was until I put on the mask'. The Phantom Links promptly disappeared for the subsequent weeks. No one knew what operations they had undertaken, or if indeed they were even present on Cadia during that time. The black templars stations at the Martyred Hill reported a group of space marines in bone white armor embroidered with gold markings operating, shouting 'STEALTH IS OPTIONAL' and 'COPE AND SEETHE' (that were their Battle cries) before flinging themselves from, somehow, behind the enemy line.

SOMETIME LATER

-Was being caught part of your plan? - The ironhand champion scoffed at the surrounded loyalist astartes, a creature of considerable size compared to not just the cultists, but even the chaos space marines themselves. While intimidating, the looming marine showed no sign of aggression, merely standing in place. Yet, his presence was enough to stay the hands of the traitors forces.
-I’ve never seen those colors before. I'll allow your name be heard before i dedicate you flesh and soul to the dark gods. Who we are doesn't matter. What matters is our plan.
-Plan? You've permitted yourself to be captured, loyalist dog. Whats the next step of your grand scheme?
-Crashing this plane.

Before the chaos marine could even comprehend this seemingly nonsensical reply, his skull was caved in by a powerfist that made landfall from more than 30 meters above. Somehow, none of the traitorous forces managed to see or even hear the roar of the Phantoms' jet pack as a squad of what appears to be assault marines.

They’re definitely not the standard, codex compliant marines that the chaos space marines typically encounter, but they are most definitely still astartes. Those who did not perish at the impact of the shock troopers where obliterated by bolt sniper rounds that seem to came out of nowhere.
'Furtim est optio!' one of the stark figures bellowed.

-Ferre et Fervescere! - The rest followed. And those would be the last words the traitors would hear.

By the time the dust had settled, Lord Baneathar of the Phantom Links had vanished with the rest of his brothers. The ironwolves were left to ponder what had transpired to this group of iron warriors, and debates of another unknown loyalist group had made planetfall quietly seeped through the wolves. One thing was for certain - there were no survivors.

As quickly as they had appeared, the Phantom Links melted into the shadows. By the time the Astra Militarum advanced into the area, they found only the aftermath of the battle: the Chaos forces annihilated, their war machines sabotaged, and their dark artifacts destroyed.

A single vox recording was discovered among the ruins, left deliberately on an abandoned Chaos terminal. It contained only Baneathar’s voice, speaking a single line:
-Stealth is optional. The battlefield belongs to those who can adapt. Should they fail let them cope and seethe

The Phantom Links were never officially credited for the victory, but their legend grew. Among the guardsmen and even the more stolid members of the Adeptus Mechanicus, tales of Lord Baneathar and his unorthodox tactics spread like wildfire.

The Ironwolves, hearing of these events, simply chuckled. Highfell remarked
-The big man always knows how to make an impression. Perhaps one day, we’ll get him to teach us his tricks.

But Lord Baneathar and his Phantom Links remained an enigma, their motives and origins as shadowed as their operations. What mattered was their results, and the results spoke for themselves: wherever they struck, enemies of mankind fell.

The Siege of Keleron Vault

The war-torn industrial complex of Keleron Vault was a testament to the Chaos gods' vile influence. The sky above churned with warp storms, and the ground below was littered with rusted wreckage and shattered bodies. Chaos warbands had fortified the complex, their defenses bristling with heretic constructs and daemon-infused artillery. The Astra Militarum had made little progress, their armor columns reduced to smoldering husks in the no-man's-land surrounding the vault.

It was during the 43rd day of the siege that whispers began circulating among the beleaguered guardsmen: strange, bone-white figures had been sighted darting across the battlefield like ghosts. Entire Chaos squads were found slaughtered in the dead of night, their corpses displaying wounds inconsistent with standard weaponry.

Ursakar Creed, orchestrating the Imperial forces' efforts, ordered vox transmissions to hail these unknown allies. The only response he received was the cryptic phrase:
-Crashing this plane.
Creed scowled at the reply.
-Damn Space Marines. - he muttered. -This isn’t some holodrama.

Enter the Unyielding
The Phantom Links struck at the heart of the Chaos warbands on the 50th night of the siege. The traitors' war leader, a bloated Chaos Lord named Voragul the Putrid, had gathered his forces in the vault's central courtyard for a dark ritual. Their chanting was abruptly cut short as a low, resonant laugh echoed across the ruins.

From the shadows emerged Lord Baneathar the Unyielding, his massive form dwarfing even the Chaos Lord. His golden-trimmed bone-white armor gleamed faintly, illuminated by the flickering firelight of sacrificial pyres. At his side hung an oversized power fist, the intricate gold engravings catching the light as he raised it in a mock salute.

-You dare interrupt my ascension? - Voragul bellowed, ichor dripping from his bloated maw.

Baneathar inclined his head, his calm and measured tone cutting through the Chaos Lord’s fury. "I dare much, heretic. But this..." He gestured broadly to the surrounding carnage. "...is merely a distraction."

Voragul sneered, raising his daemon-imbued axe.
-Distraction? You’re but one against us all! What could you possibly hope to achieve, loyalist dog?
Baneathar paused, tilting his helmeted head as if considering the question. Then, with a deep, menacing chuckle, he simply said:
-Crashing this plane.
Voragul blinked, utterly bewildered.
-What nonsense is this? What plane? What are you-...

Before he could finish, a roaring jetpack streaked down from above. An assault marine, his power fist glowing with discharge, landed squarely on Voragul’s lieutenant, crushing him instantly. The impact sent a shockwave through the courtyard, scattering cultists and Chaos Marines alike.
At that same moment, the Phantom Links struck. Jetpack-wielding assault marines descended like comets, bolt pistols and chainswords carving through the panicked Chaos forces. Sniper fire picked off key targets from unseen positions, leaving no room for the enemy to regroup.

"STEALTH IS OPTIONAL!" bellowed one of the assault marines as he drove his chainsword into the gut of a Chaos Sorcerer. "COPE AND SEETHE!" another shouted, hurling a melta charge into a daemonic war engine, which exploded in a deafening roar.

Voragul, now weaponless and bleeding ichor, turned back to Baneathar, his monstrous bulk trembling with rage.
-You... you dare mock me with riddles?!

Baneathar’s laughter rumbled like distant thunder as he raised his power fist. -Mock you? No. This is simply the punchline.

The massive fist descended with the force of a thunderbolt, caving in Voragul’s chest and silencing him forever.

Vanishing of Phantom Links
As quickly as they had appeared, the Phantom Links melted into the shadows. By the time the Astra Militarum advanced into the vault, they found only the aftermath of the battle: the Chaos forces annihilated, their war machines sabotaged, and their dark artifacts destroyed.

A single vox recording was discovered among the ruins, left deliberately on an abandoned Chaos terminal. It contained only Baneathar’s voice, speaking a single line:
-"The battlefield belongs to those who can adapt. Stealth is optional."

The Phantom Links were never officially credited for the victory at Keleron Vault, but their legend grew. Among the guardsmen and even the more stolid members of the Adeptus Mechanicus, tales of Lord Baneathar and his unorthodox tactics spread like wildfire.
The Ironwolves, hearing of these events, simply chuckled. Highfell remarked
-The big man always knows how to make an impression. Perhaps one day, we’ll get him to teach us his tricks.

But Lord Baneathar and his Phantom Links remained an enigma, their motives and origins as shadowed as their operations. What mattered was their results, and the results spoke for themselves: wherever they struck, Chaos fell.

The Forging of the Phantom Chains

(Phantom Links backstory of the Chapter)

It was during the early days of the Phantom Links’ enigmatic rise, when their Chapter was still establishing its traditions and identity. Lord Baneathar the Unyielding, newly ascended as their Primarch, summoned his fledgling Chapter to a shattered Mechanicus forgeworld on the edge of the Segmentum Obscurus. The planet, known only as Ferrum Mortis, had been the site of a catastrophic Chaos incursion. It was a world of twisted wreckage and corrupted industry, its surface littered with the remnants of countless battles.

The Phantom Links, having recently driven out the last remnants of heretical forces from Ferrum Mortis, stood before their Primarch amidst the ruins of the planet’s once-proud foundries. Baneathar, towering and imposing in his ornate bone-white armor, carried with him a massive length of chain—one he had torn from the remains of a corrupted Titan during their campaign.

Holding the chain aloft, Baneathar addressed his gathered warriors, his voice resonating like a storm breaking over the sea.
"This world, broken and scarred, is much like ourselves," he began. "Forged in chaos. Tempered by fire. And yet, unbroken."

He threw the chain down before them, the links clattering against the scorched ground. "Chains are symbols of both bondage and strength. They bind, yes—but they also hold. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link, but when tempered, it becomes unyielding."

Baneathar gestured to the horizon, where the shattered silhouette of a Chaos war machine still loomed. "We are the chains that bind the Imperium together. We are not unthinking automatons like those who cling to the Codex Astartes. We adapt. We evolve. And through our bonds—through our brotherhood—we are invincible."

As he spoke, one of the Phantom Links' artificers, a marine known as Ferrus-Serk, approached the discarded chain. With Baneathar's nod of approval, Ferrus-Serk retrieved two links, battered but unbroken. "From this chain, we forge our symbol," the artificer declared. "Let these links remind us that together, we are greater than the sum of our parts."

The First Forge
In the ruins of Ferrum Mortis, the Phantom Links constructed their first Chapter Forge. Using the forgeworld’s ancient, half-functional machinery, they melted down the Chaos-tainted metal of the Titan’s chain, purifying it through rituals and flames. Ferrus-Serk himself forged the first emblem: two interlocked chains crossing in the center.

When the emblem was presented to Lord Baneathar, he held it aloft for all to see.
-This is not a symbol of who we are now,- he declared, -but of who we must always strive to be. Linked. Unbroken. Adaptable. Let it mark us as phantoms who strike from the shadows, yet remain as enduring as iron.

The emblem was affixed to the shoulder plates of every Phantom Link, engraved with subtle variations to reflect each marine’s unique path. The two crossed chains became not just a symbol of their strength, but also a reminder of their purpose: to bind the Imperium together in its darkest hour, even if they remained unseen and unsung.

The Legacy of the Chains
Over the centuries, the story of the emblem has become a cornerstone of the Chapter’s identity. Recruits are taught the tale of Ferrum Mortis during their trials, and each marine carves their own version of the chains into their armor upon earning their place among the Phantom Links. To this day, Lord Baneathar carries a length of the original Titan’s chain with him into battle, a silent reminder of the Chapter’s origins and the unyielding bonds that hold them together.

The Chain Breakers

(backstory of a single skull emblem instead of Castellans' emblem incorporation)

Within the Phantom Links, individuality and adaptability are core tenets, but so too is the collective strength of brotherhood, symbolized by the crossed chains. Yet, not every marine embraces this symbol. Among the Chapter’s ranks, there exists a unique tradition for those whose paths diverge from the norm—a tradition born in the fires of betrayal and redemption.

It is said that during one of the Phantom Links’ earliest campaigns, the Chapter fought against the Cult of the Flayed Mask on the death world of Drosskrag. The cult, led by a fallen Space Marine known as Maldrak the Severer, had mastered the art of sowing discord and mistrust among their enemies. Using psychic trickery and sabotage, they turned allies against one another, exploiting even the smallest cracks in their opponents’ unity.
For the Phantom Links, this campaign was a crucible. Maldrak’s machinations threatened to unravel the bonds of trust that held the Chapter together. Several squads were lured into deadly traps, their numbers thinned by betrayal and chaos. The cult whispered lies into their minds, driving wedges between battle-brothers.

One squad, led by a young sergeant named Karron Draek, was caught in the worst of the cult’s schemes. Separated from the main force, they were forced to fend for themselves in the hostile wilderness of Drosskrag, hunted relentlessly by cultists and daemons. To survive, Karron and his brothers had to abandon their reliance on coordination and camaraderie, instead forging their own brutal, self-reliant path.

By the time they rejoined the Chapter, Karron’s squad was unrecognizable. Hardened by their ordeal, they had become grim and taciturn, their bond to one another forged not through trust, but through shared suffering. When Lord Baneathar himself confronted Karron, questioning why his squad had not reestablished contact sooner, the sergeant responded coldly:
-Chains are only as strong as their links. When a link fails, the chain must be broken.

The Birth of the Skull Icon
Though Karron’s words unsettled many, Lord Baneathar saw wisdom in his defiance.
-Not all battles are won through unity, - he declared. -Sometimes, the lone warrior must rise where others fall. But such warriors bear a burden unlike any other. They are not links in the chain—they are the sword that shatters it.

In recognition of their ordeal, Karron and his squad were permitted to forgo the Chapter’s emblem of crossed chains. Instead, they bore a single skull upon their pauldrons, a stark and solemn icon representing their role as Chain Breakers - those who operated outside the bonds of the Chapter when the mission demanded it. The skull symbolized death, sacrifice, and the heavy price of independence.

The Legacy of the Skull
Over the centuries, the tradition of the Chain Breakers has grown. Not all who wear the skull do so by choice; some are assigned the role by Chapter leadership, sent on missions so dangerous or morally complex that they cannot risk the involvement of others. These marines often operate alone or in small, autonomous cells, carrying out the Chapter’s will in the shadows.

The distinction is not without controversy. Among the Phantom Links, the skull is both a mark of honor and a stigma. To some, it represents ultimate trust in a marine’s skill and judgment; to others, it is a sign of estrangement, a tacit acknowledgment that the bearer no longer fits within the bonds of brotherhood. Yet, even those who bear the skull remain loyal to the Chapter. As Karron Draek once said:
-The chain may break, but the iron remains strong.

Practices in the times of modern Imperium
As it stands, these days crossed chains and the single skull coexist within the Phantom Links. The two symbols represent different philosophies and approaches, but both are seen as vital to the Chapter’s identity. The chains embody unity and adaptability, while the skull stands as a reminder of the price of individuality and sacrifice.

Marines who bear the skull often return to the fold, their deeds celebrated in grim silence. Those who wear the chains look upon their skull-bearing brothers with a mix of respect and unease, knowing that these lone warriors carry the weight of the Chapter’s darkest burdens.

Phantoms in the Sunz

The distress signal crackled through the Phantom Links’ vox array, a desperate plea lost amidst the endless void of war. Somewhere on the blasted plains of Veskar IX, a squad of Cadian 127th survivors had been cornered by a rampaging horde of Evil Sunz Orkz. The greenskins, clad in garish reds and belching smoke from ramshackle warbikes, had turned the battlefield into a chaotic, high-speed slaughterhouse.

Yet, amidst the swirling dust and the blood-soaked sands, the Orkz failed to notice the silent approach of unseen hunters. A single, distorted vox transmission reached the guardsmen before all other signals fell silent:
-Stealth is optional.

Moments later, all hell broke loose.

The first explosions sent Ork warbikes tumbling through the air like ragdolls, their riders screaming in rage and confusion. Crackling bolts of energy tore through the smog-filled battlefield as plasma fire reduced Nobz to smoldering husks. From the shadows of ruined hab-blocks, sniper rounds found their marks, dropping the biggest and loudest of the Orkz before they even knew they were in a fight.

Then, they appeared.

Like wraiths born of the battlefield itself, the Phantom Links descended - jump packs roaring, chainswords whirring. Bolt rounds tore through crude armor as ceramite-clad giants smashed into the Ork lines with the force of a meteor storm.

Brother Syvox landed atop a roaring warbike, severing the rider’s head with a single stroke before kicking the lifeless greenskin aside and hijacking the vehicle. With one hand on the throttle and the other firing his bolt pistol, he rode straight into the fray, using the Orkz’ own tactics against them. He pulled a hard turn, forcing two bikes to crash into each other, before leaping free just as the wreck exploded.

Sergeant Voragul, ever the pragmatist, had little patience for theatrics. With a crackling power axe in one hand and a flamer in the other, he simply cut and burned his way through the stunned Orkz, leaving behind only charred husks and smoldering scrap. At his side, Brother Zhoran, a towering brute of a Marine, tore an Ork in half with his bare hands before hurling the remains into an oncoming trukk, sending the vehicle careening off-course before it flipped end-over-end.

The fight was a massacre - an execution, not a battle. But the Orkz still had one last card to play. One particularly massive Warboss, Gutzkrakka, barely had time to bellow a challenge before a colossal figure stepped into his path. Lord Baneathar, the Unyielding. The Warboss sneered, raising his oversized klaw.
-Dat’s a big humie, oi wonder if ‘e kan fight-

-For you... - Baneathar rumbled - the fight is already over.

The Warboss lunged, his klaw snapping like a steel trap, but Lord Baneathar sidestepped with eerie speed, his power fist crashing into Gutzkrakka’s ribs. The impact sent a shockwave through the battlefield, cracking armor and sending the Warboss skidding backwards. Yet, rather than falter, the Ork roared with laughter.

Now dat’s what I’m talkin’ about! - Gutzkrakka spat blood and grease, then revved up the engines built into his armor. With a deafening roar, he launched himself forward like a living missile, klaw outstretched.

Lord Baneathar met the charge head-on. The klaw clamped onto his pauldron, crushing ceramite and sending sparks flying, but the Lord of the Phantom Links did not slow. His free hand shot forward, fingers digging into the Warboss’s wrist, holding the klaw at bay. For a moment, the two titans strained against one another, locked in a battle of sheer strength.

In response Lord Baneathar twisted.

With a sickening crunch, he snapped the Warboss’s wrist, forcing the klaw open. Before Gutzkrakka could react, the Astartes surged forward, headbutting the Ork with a force that shattered his crude metal jaw. The Warboss reeled, stunned, as Lord Baneathargrabbed him by the throat and lifted him off the ground.

You are nothing but noise. - Lord Baneathar growled. - And I am the silence that follows.

With that, he drove his fist straight through the Warboss’ chest, rupturing organs and armor alike. For a brief moment, Gutzkrakka twitched, his eyes filled with disbelief, before Lord Baneathar wrenched his hand free and let the lifeless hulk drop to the ground.

The fight was over in minutes. What had been a screaming tide of red-clad Orkz had become a smoking ruin of mangled vehicles and broken bodies. The Cadian survivors, still clutching their weapons, looked on in stunned silence.

Then…..nothing.

By the time they dared to move, the Phantom Links were gone. No footprints. No lingering sounds. No trace they had ever been there.
All that remained was a single, hastily-scrawled phrase on the side of a wrecked warbike, etched into the metal with a combat blade:

"COPE AND SEETHE"